


Up, Up, And Away

by CityofAangels



Series: MCU Kink Bingo 2018 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dom Tony Stark, M/M, Masturbation, Riding Crops, Sub Bucky Barnes, bdsm club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:52:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CityofAangels/pseuds/CityofAangels
Summary: Bucky and Tony celebrate their anniversary with a fun night in a fetish club.





	Up, Up, And Away

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just say, I have no idea how this became so long.  
> This is for the square Gentle Dom of MCU Kink Bingo.
> 
> Enjoy!

Through eyes that didn't know them well, and didn't know what their relationship was like, Bucky could guess what they looked like. Violent. Abusive, even, perhaps. Like Bucky was mistreated, inferior and beat down.

It was so far from the truth it made Bucky laugh even thinking about it. He _knew_ , as surely as he knew Earth was round and his name was James Buchanan Barnes, that Tony would never, ever, treat him as his inferior. They got off on pain; both of them did. Tony liked dominating him, and to untrained eyes, it looked like he was the one who had the upper hand in these kinds of situations. But that was so far from the truth it didn't even _approach_ it. When they were in a scene, when Tony turned on his Dom mode, _Bucky_ always had the upper hand. He was the one who could stop everything with a word or a gesture; he was the one who set the boundaries and the pace of the evening. If he needed to slow down, they did; if he needed comfort, he got it; if he needed more authority, Tony was happy to give it to him.

Maybe there were BDSM relationship where boundaries and respect weren't that obvious; no, scratch that, _of course_ there were such relationships. But theirs wasn't one of these. As soon as they'd started stepping hesitantly into the more kinky side of sex, the gentleness, the respect, the patience Tony had for him was obvious. He was everything Bucky could have asked for, and even more. They'd made lots of mistakes in the beginning, because they didn't know each other well enough, and because mistakes were simply human, but not once had Bucky felt in any danger – and after years spent being a captive and a machine of death, he knew what danger was, had it streaming through his veins right alongside blood.

Each and every time Bucky had safeworded, or even asked to slow down, Tony had listened and done it, providing warmth and comfort when it was needed, staying quiet but present, always present, when Bucky needed some time alone with his thoughts to gather himself. He'd never pushed on any of the things he liked and Bucky didn't feel so sure about; some, they would never try; others, they'd grown to test and like. If he'd planned a scene but Bucky felt more like watching a movie quietly, he would never insist, no matter how impatient he was of testing new things he'd bought. And, perhaps more importantly still, Bucky knew he could trust him, because Tony knew his own boundaries. There was this widespread belief, that only subs could safeword, because doms were supposed to always be in control, and never fear anything. It was a dangerous belief, and Bucky was glad Tony wasn't part of the people believing it. No, Tony knew when to admit he didn't really like what they were doing, or wasn't in the right mindset to keep going. Though he enjoyed it, he also was aware that Bucky submitting for him when Tony was angry, in pain, or tired, wasn't a good idea.

People said Tony couldn't take care of him, and maybe that _was_ true – after all, Bucky had seen him go without food for two days more than once – but the other thing that was true, was that he knew how to take care of the people who mattered to him.

 

Of course, tonight was no exception.

They'd gone to Paris for their anniversary, because, as Tony said ''we can't celebrate our five years with just a cake!''. Also, because there were slightly less people there who recognized them, as busy as they were getting to wherever they were going.

After long research, Tony had found a fetish club, somewhere really private where you usually had to be screened multiple times before being allowed in – but being Tony Stark _did_ bring some advantages, even when you were in France. He had a reputation, and not the basic playboy one he still had with him in the United States; no, in this sort of clubs, he had the reputation of being a trustworthy man who would never cause any trouble. And indeed, he would never do that – except for that one time he'd started shouting at a man that was obviously being unsafe with his sub, but that was a whole other story.

Long story short, he'd kept it secret until the last day, where he'd shyly asked Bucky if he would agree to spend a night there with him. There were no obligations, nothing Tony had planned, just a night of easy fun – they could even wear a disguise if Bucky really did not want to risk being recognized. But, truth be told, at some point he'd started not caring anymore about people recognizing him: he knew that in this lifestyle, it was very rare for people to cause drama, as respect and privacy were at the forefront for everyone.

So he'd said yes, and Tony had given him clothes Bucky hadn't even _seen_ him packing, the kind of clothes that showed more things than they covered, the kind that lit up that special spark in Tony's eyes. He had a thing for dressing Bucky up, which wasn't that surprising seeing how _Tony_ himself was passionate about clothes and fashion. That sort of clothes would probably not be seen at the next Fashion Week, though, even if the black leather short and red harness would have raised some interested eyebrows.

It was impressive, really, how Tony had a feeling for what would look good on Bucky. He always managed to find the perfect thing, to ask for them to be tailored in the perfect way. The red harness was the same shade as the delicate details on Bucky's metal arm – and, logically, the same shade as the Iron Man armor. It looked similar to the gear harness Bucky wore on the battlefield, and managed to hide the worst of the scars on his left side, so he wouldn't feel as self-conscious as he usually did. The leather shorts were… interesting, to say the least. They hid nothing, really; were so skin-tight that if you looked closely enough, you could see every little vein of Bucky's already half-erect cock.

Of course, he wouldn't parade through the streets like this, and he shrugged on a simple black cotton t-shirt and a pair of comfy but nice-looking sweats, putting on his combat booths when Tony gave them to him – one more item he wasn't aware they'd had in their luggage.

Tony wasn't the kind of Dom to try and wear clothes that would make him seem intimidating; really, looking at him right now, in his silk dark grey shirt and tight slacks, you'd understand what _not judging a book by its cover_ really meant. He looked like a man ready for a romantic and vanilla night, outwardly. His power was not in his clothing, but rather in the way he stood, his back straightening up almost instinctively, in the way he was looking at Bucky, too, eyes sharp and attentive, and in the way he spoke, never dismissive, never mocking, but distilling such authority that Bucky would never dare disobey him just for a laugh.

 

The ride to the club was quiet; Tony'd booked a limo for the occasion, pretending he was getting fed up with Parisian taxi drivers and their way of making him feel like he was gonna die at each red light. The moon already shone over the Seine, and Bucky could not get enough of the view, of the lit buildings and the tip of the Eiffel Tower he could see in the distance. It took them getting out of the main part of the city and further into the suburbs for him to stop gazing out of the window and as he did, he met Tony's gaze, so full of love it stupidly took his breath away for a second.

Tony was apparently waiting for him to give him his full attention, because as soon as Bucky was watching him, he leaned towards him and kissed him. He wasn't yet on full dominant mode, and he let Bucky kiss back and _touch_ , something he usually didn't do without an explicit permission when they were in a scene. Bucky enjoyed the privilege, taking great care of not messing Tony's carefully styled hair too much, while being delighted in how soft they felt against his fingers  

 

''Love you,'' he whispered against Tony's lips, and closed his eyes as he felt them stretching into a smile.

''Love you too, my beautiful soldier.''

 

He shivered minutely, and after a last peck at his lips, Tony gently detangled himself from his embrace, taking his hand and squeezing it briefly.

 

''How are you feeling?'' he asked, scrutinizing Bucky's face as he answered, looking for any trace of lie – though at this point, he knew he would probably never find any.

''Good. Relaxed. Rested. I feel– I dunno, settled, I guess? Like I have no reasons to worry.''

''Well, that's right, you don't _have_ any reason to worry. I'm glad you feel great. I want you to tell me what you need tonight, okay? This whole night is about you, so you're gonna have what you ask for, everything you want.''

''Really?''

''Yes, really,'' Tony smiled, smoothing down Bucky's raised eyebrows with his thumbs. ''But it goes both ways: if you don't ask for it, and I mean _verbally_ ask for it, you don't get anything.''

 

 _Oh_. Oh. Well, this explained that. It wasn't that Bucky was particularly prude, nor that it was torture for him to say out loud what he wanted, but there'd always been this modesty, somehow. It was linked to the fact he wasn't born and raised in the same time as Tony was, that was his best guess. The why didn't matter much, really; the simple fact was that asking for precise things he wanted would cause him some difficulty, not enough to put him in a bad mindset, obviously, but enough that he'd have to voluntarily step into vulnerable territory. That would be interesting, for sure.

 

''Is that okay with you, then?''

''Sure, it is. Though I feel like I'm gonna regret telling you yes.''

''You probably will,'' Tony smiled, and stroked down one of Bucky's cheeks with his fingers. ''But it'll be fun, for the both of us.''

 

The last part of the trip went by fast, Tony's hand warm and comforting around Bucky's own, and soon they were at the doors to the club. It was discreet, as these places often were: the owners had a hard enough time being accepted by their neighbors as it was, putting in place an eccentric front wouldn't help them in the least. From the outside, it looked like a perfectly normal house, but it changed as soon as they stepped in. The ''reception area'' was dimly lit, and they were welcomed by a thirty years old woman dressed all in black and accompanied by a tall, muscular man who served as the security man, and who wouldn't hesitate to throw someone out.

 

''Mister Stark, Mister Barnes,'' the woman greeted them with a polite smile and a French accent. ''We would like to welcome you in our club, and wish you a very good night. Cloakrooms are to your left, here is the key to a locker for the night. Should you wish to stay longer with us, we have some rooms available upstairs; please, do not hesitate to ask one of my colleagues or myself. We are all available to make your night here the most enjoyable possible.''

 

With one of his charming smiles and a wink, Tony took the key.

 

''Thank you very much, ma'am. Have a nice evening.''

 

Then Bucky was being tugged to a dark wood door, the one the woman had indicated. It was a cloakroom, just like she'd said, lined with lockers on one side, two showers and two cabins for privacy on the other. Getting ready was quick work, for the both of them: Tony only had to shrug out of his trench coat, and Bucky to strip down his sweats and t-shirt. The air was warm, and he knew the shiver that went through his body was caused more by impatience than by coldness. After a quick line of eyeliner was applied – Tony had a _thing_ for makeup on him – they were ready to leave, but not without the usual serious talk.

 

''You know the drill, I know you do, but let's get over it once more. I expect respect from you: you look at me when you're talking to me, you don't whine or swear at me. If I ask you to do something, you do it, or you explain to me why you can't or don't want to. _I_ 'm not going to ask a lot of you tonight, though, that's gonna be your role, you need to be clear on that. If there's anything wrong, if you don't feel one hundred percent all right, you tell me what's happening, and we figure it out. Words and gestures?''

 

Bucky showed and told him, the words rolling on his tongue easily, the gestures like second nature – he wouldn't need to think twice about it should he need them. In a well-known routine, Tony answered with his own words, the ones he'd use if something was wrong with him, or if he felt Bucky was pushing himself too much.

 

''One last rule,'' he said – as he always did, with the same little smile every time.

''I'm listening,'' Bucky answered – as he always did, mockingly serious.

''You never forget I love you.''

 

Then he was kissing Bucky, and this time, he was clearly the dominant one, not leaving time for Bucky to really catch his breath and do much more than accepting the kiss. A last lingering touch of his warm fingers on Bucky's back, and he was taking a step back, gesturing for Bucky to turn around.

 

''Go on, baby. I'll just be one step behind – wanna enjoy the view.''

 

Feeling a blush expand from the tip of his ears, Bucky nevertheless turned and took the few steps separating them from the door to the main room of the club. He might, he just _might_ have swayed his hips a touch more than usual, the leather on his naked skin a very interesting sensation, and he also _might_ have enjoyed the groan this got out of Tony.

True to his word, Tony was there when he opened the door, by his side, his hand warm and possessive on Bucky's lower back, steering him in the direction he wanted him to go. They stepped into a big room, lit by a majestic crystal chandelier that cast mysterious shadows all over the place. At first glance, Bucky knew it was the kind of clubs he would like: the people there were a mix of all ethnies and genders, and their clothing showed an obvious knowledge of the scene; there was music, but not too loud, and not the cheap, electric kind that some clubs seemed to enjoy; though there was a show on a small stage, it was more sensual than pornographic, a slow cabaret. There was a general show of respect, too – not something Bucky could have explained clearly enough, though. It was in the way people moved and looked at each other, and it exuded a feeling of _safety_.

 

''We're in what they call the communal room,'' Tony explained, watching him observing his surroundings. ''Nothing much happens here, just a bit of dancing, talking, it's pretty quiet. Right there, they have a bar.''

 

As he said it, Bucky suddenly realized he was _thirsty_ ; he longed for something sweet and fruity. He licked his lips, wondering how exactly he should phrase it.

 

''Tony?''

''Yes, baby?''

''Can we go get something to drink?''

''Of course, gladly, thank you for asking. Come on, then.''

 

As they passed people on their way, Bucky could feel them watching, stopping their conversations for a second. He was used to it: even if people didn't recognize him (which didn't happen very often), the metal arm tended to attract stares wherever they went.

 

''They're watching us,'' he whispered, taking a step closer to Tony.

''How could they not? You're absolutely _gorgeous_ tonight.''

''But I'm all yours,'' Bucky answered, simply, and it was the truth, the whole truth, but saying it was worth it with the way Tony looked at him, all pleased and proud.

''That you are. What would you like to drink?''

''You're the cocktail pro, not me. I'm thinking strawberries. Something sweet, at least. No alcohol.''

 

That was obvious, but it was still worth mentioning. Tony nodded and stepped away and closer to the bar, ordering two mocktails in fluent French, the barest trace of an accent in the way he rolled the hard _r_ s. Bucky spoke fourteen languages, and French was one of them, but he was pretty sure it was never as beautiful as when Tony was speaking it.

He came back with two glasses, one of virgin mojito for himself, and a strawberry daiquiri for Bucky. It was _delicious_ , he decided as he took a sip of it, the taste rich and fruity on his tongue.

 

''Can we go explore a bit more? I'd like to see what's behind all these doors.''

 

The first door they opened actually led to a corridor with even _more_ doors. Behind each of them was a room for specific kinks – there was one for medical kink and one for electrostimulation, for example. Some were opened, and they stepped in one of them for a while, watching from a distance as a forty-something woman was tormenting her sub, safely tied into a swing.

 

''That's something I'd like to try, someday,'' Bucky confided once they'd left the room, hiding his embarrassment with another sip of his cocktail.

''Really?'' Tony asked, and he sounded genuinely surprised, like he hadn't excepted this from his boyfriend.

''Yes, really. It's– the vulnerability, I guess. Once you're in there, you can't do anything anymore. You'd be the one leading.''

''Oh. Well, that's interesting. I'm not sure the one they have here would be enough to hold a supersoldier, but if you really want to try–''

''No. No, not tonight.''

''Okay, then. I'll take a look into it once we're back home.'' Tony said, simply enough, and that was a sign that he was going to spend at least a day in his workshop trying to figure out how to make a swing strong enough to resist Bucky.

 

Their exploration led them to a stair guarded by another security member, who informed them that the rooms up there were private, unless you were invited by someone who had rented one. They nodded and thanked him for the explanation, turning on their heels and stepping back into the communal room. Right next to it was another corridor, shorter this time, leading to a room as big as the communal one.

There, though, the atmosphere wasn't the same. There was a lot more touching going on, and a lot more nakedness. Of course, it wasn't like they'd just stepped into one gigantic orgy, but still, people were more obviously kinky there, and Bucky felt a sudden rush of blood south as two men passed in front of them, one of them very obviously busy with what was in the other one's pants.

Tony noticed – of course he did, what with the tightness of Bucky's shorts – and he grinned at him, unashamed, as they walked deeper into the room. One half of it was set up for people to sit down and talk (or maybe, do something _else_ than simply talk), with comfortable armchairs and couches, the floor a thick carpet that wouldn't hurt people kneeling. The other half was… Well, suffice it to say that Bucky's shorts felt suddenly even tighter.

St Andrew's crosses had always appealed to him, but that was something they didn't have at home – yet. The few clubs they'd visited had one, but Bucky had kept quiet about it, and they'd never used one for playing. The one they had here was dark red, with hooks to which people could link restraints. No one was using it right now, and Bucky gulped, wondering if he would have the pleasure to watch a show later in the evening. It was obviously set up so everyone in the room would see what was happening there, on a little platform for more visibility, and lit by a light that, while not especially harsh, managed to make everything perfectly clear. The wall on every side of the cross was lined with various floggers and riding crops, and Bucky had to swallow, _hard_ , to get rid of the dryness in his throat.

Trying to clear his mind, he looked around him, noting other doors, each of them half open, from where cries, begs and moans escaped – public rooms then. While touching and making out was allowed in here, having sex obviously was not, and he saw more than one couple (and even one trio) leave a couch where they were settled to disappear behind one of these doors.

Tony was watching him, obviously waiting for instructions on what to do. They could have kept exploring, went to see what was happening behind these doors, but the _cross_ …

 

''I'd like to sit down for a bit,'' Bucky said, and Tony followed him to an armchair just big enough for the two of them.

 

The fact that it was big enough didn't matter much, though, because as soon as Tony was sitting, his glass safely put down on the floor next to him, he tugged on Bucky's hands until he was straddling his thighs, sitting on his lap facing him. This close to his mouth, there wasn't much Bucky wanted but to kiss him, so he leaned down eagerly, but was met with a reprimanding hum. Tony was looking at him with narrowed eyes, and Bucky had to lick his lips before daring to ask:

 

''May I get a kiss, Tony?''

''If you ask so nicely, how could I say no?''

 

At the end, it was Tony who stretched to kiss him, a hand on the back of his neck, the other drawing little circles up on his thigh.

 

''Can you…'' Bucky blushed as they drew apart, and squirmed around, a bit uncomfortable.

''Can I what?''

 

Tony's hand squeezed around his thigh, encouraging and settling.

 

''Play with my hair? I– I like it when you do.''

''Oh really?'' Tony said, deadpan. ''Never noticed that. Of course I can.''

 

It was true that Bucky _had_ a weakness about Tony playing with his hair. The nape of his neck was particularly sensitive, and the feel of Tony's nails scratching there… well, it was a little pleasure he liked to indulge in, and no one had the right to judge him about that.

It was quiet for a little while, just them kissing and touching, enjoying the atmosphere and watching what was going on around them. In this kind of places, you could never really get bored; there was always something going on somewhere. Just observing what people were wearing was interesting in itself. Some stayed pretty classic – leather pants, silk shirts – while other were more extravagant. A man was wearing a soldier uniform, which made Bucky smile. Another was strategically covered in what could only be described as a leather string, nipple clamps linked to a leash that his mistress was loosely holding in a fist. A woman wore a black and red nurse uniform, skin-tight, like it was painted on her. And speaking of paint, there _was_ a woman that only wore pain as clothes, an impressive abstract painting that went from her neck to her ankles, covering her in delicate swirls of color.

Though people-watching was really interesting, and even if Bucky did his best to avoid it, his eyes were undeniably attracted to the cross, so innocent looking, and yet so full of promises to him. He knew he wasn't being particularly smooth looking at it; honestly, at this point, there was no way Tony hadn't noticed, but he wouldn't say anything about it, not even a question that would give Bucky the incentive to talk about it. So he was the one who had to take a deep breath and risk it:

 

''D'you know if they're planning a show on the cross tonight?''

 

He could feel Tony smiling, his lips warm in his neck.

 

''I haven't seen anything about it in the program, no. Why?''

''Because–'' he swallowed, but when he looked up, there was no judgement in Tony's eyes, nothing negative. ''I think it looks good.''

''You think it looks _good_?''

''Arousing, I mean. It's… it's something I'd like to try. Maybe.''

''I need you to tell me more about it, baby. You'd like to try it here, or once we're back home?''

 

He gulped, looked at the cross, and decided that a bit of honesty could only lead to good things.

 

''I think… I think here would be good. It's the restraints, I guess. And the people. I want them to see us.''

 

He was blushing, and there was nothing he could do about it, except maybe hide in Tony's neck, but the man probably wouldn't let him. So instead he straightened up, and looked into his boyfriend's eyes. There was a spark there, an obvious interest.

 

''So tell me, baby. What do you want me to do?''

 

His eyes shifted from the cross, to Tony, to all of the people around.

 

''I want you to… To take me there, and tie me up like you choose to. And then– and then take one of these riding crops. And mark my back, so they'll see, even it it won't last long, they'll see I belong to you.''

 

Tony exhaled, a rush of air hot and shaky, but he was nodding, and he was hard against Bucky's thigh.

 

''My beautiful soldier,'' he drawled, smoothing down Bucky's hair with one hand. ''I would _love_ to do that to you.''

 

He pushed Bucky away gently, making him stand up and following suit. He took his hand so they'd walk together to the cross; that way, the looks they were attracting did not weigh so heavily on their shoulders.

Though the cross looked heavy, solid, it was always a mystery with this kind of things: would they withstand Bucky's strength, or would they not? Usually, they learnt the answer to that question once it was too late; he would have to hold back a little, not struggle the way he did sometimes when they were at home, safe in his reinforced restraints. They stepped on the platform and came near the cross. There were various sets of restraints in a small cupboard right next to it, various sizes and material: rubber, leather, ropes.

 

''Leather, please?'' Bucky asked in a small voice, and Tony smiled, nodded, and took a pair of black leather handcuffs, as well as a set that would wrap around his forearms, and one for his ankles. The last thing he needed was some hooks to fasten the restraints to the cross, and he grabbed enough of those, too.

 

The next step was to actually get Bucky hooked to the cross. Tony surveyed it for a few seconds, then looked at Bucky, appraising, no doubt making calculations in this genius mind of his. He seemed to finally come to a decision, and pushed Bucky around until he was facing the cross, his back to the rest of the room. His feet were placed at hip width and then Tony kneeled down to fasten them to the bottom of the cross. Next were his arms: Tony pushed them up, bent at the elbow: the flesh one he tied at the wrist and upper, just below the elbow; the metal one he tied only at the wrist.

 

''It's not the handcuffs we're used to,'' he explained in a quiet voice, ''so I'm not going to risk causing any damage to that beautiful arm of yours. If there's something unusual happening in it, you tell me and I untie it, okay?''

 

When Bucky nodded, he traced a finger down his back, and then took a few steps back to get a full view of his boyfriend. 

 

''You should see yourself. So beautiful people are already coming closer to see you. You're drawing a crowd, baby.''

''Not just me,'' Bucky smiled, tugging just a bit at the restraints to see how they were holding, and to which extent he could move.

''Hm, while I appreciate the stroke of my ego, I'm pretty sure it's actually just you they're looking at. You really don't have any idea how good you look, do you?''

 

And it was especially true tonight. The lights shone on Bucky's back, creating shadows around his muscles, framing his waist, his pale skin a delicious contrast to the black leather of his shorts. Under the harness, his shoulders rippled regularly, and though Bucky wasn't a big fan of his scars (which Tony understood too well), there was something pure, raw, about them: a proof of what he'd gone through, somehow coming off at the other end stronger than ever.

There were already whispers growing behind them, and though some of them were too quiet for Tony to understand, he got the general gist of them: it was pure admiration, and speculation about what would happen. A guy was telling his friend what _he_ 'd like to do, and though Tony wasn't usually of the particularly possessive kind, this time he had to take a step forward and feel Bucky's warm skin to reassure himself that this whole body, this whole amazing man, was _his_.

 

''I'm gonna step back for a second,'' he explained, keeping comforting hands on the V of Bucky's waist, ''choose one of their crops. I won't be long, and I'll keep an eye on you, okay? I want you to just breathe and relax.''

 

He stayed just long enough to watch Bucky nod and take a long, deep breath, then stepped away, looking at the choice of riding crops. Everything was clean and well taken care of: the leather shone under the lights. At home, they had their own material, a little bit of everything they could use no matter what they wanted to do, but Tony hadn't taken anything with him, not really sure they would actually be playing tonight. It wasn't that big of a deal: even though he was more at ease playing with what belonged to him, the tools here were of top quality, and some of them came from brands he knew and trusted. He chose one of these: a crop that was slightly longer than the one he was used to, but not too long to be a problem, in rich brown leather. It was light, and he threw it from hand to hand, swinging it in front of him as he walked back to Bucky, noticing with pleasure that the tension in Bucky's shoulders already seemed to have lessened. It was amazing, really, what being restrained did to his boyfriend; and that wasn't even mentioning what _pain_ did to him. Bucky wasn't among the biggest masochists there were, sure, but the bite of a crop, the slap of a hand on his ass, the maddening cold of ice on his nipples, all of that got him up and flying faster than a bit of rough handling could ever do.

 

''Can I see what you chose?'' Bucky asked as soon as he heard Tony approaching, his voice low and subdued, breathing controlled.

 

Tony stepped to his side so he could see the crop he was holding, watching the way Bucky's eyes widened and darkened, listening to his breathing quicken just a touch.

 

''Good choice?''

''Yes sir, very good choice. Could I– get a kiss, maybe? Before you start?''

 

The look in his eyes as he asked was something else: filled with trust and impatience. Even if Tony had wanted to – which he didn't – there was no way he could have refused the request. The way Bucky was tied up, he couldn't lean down comfortably, and so Tony had to go up on his tiptoes to kiss him, dirty and possessive, answering to the rise in the crowd's whispers with a little bite on Bucky's lips. By the time he stepped away, his boyfriend's eyes had turned just a bit glassy, and his tongue sneaked out to lick the lingering taste of Tony on his lips. With a last wink, Tony stepped back to his previous place, right behind Bucky, and stretched his neck and back, waiting just a bit longer than usual so the anticipation would only rise – he'd heard it made it even better.

 

''How many do you deserve?'' he asked, in French, so everyone would understand him.

 

There was a little moment of silence as Bucky proceeded what he'd asked; usually, he took as many as Tony deemed necessary, and didn't have a say in the number. But this was about _him_ , and Tony didn't want to give him more or less than he wanted. The answer came as a surprise:

 

''Thirty-five, sir.''

 

Tony knew his numbers in French, and Bucky's accent was barely perceptible, too light to risk misunderstanding him, so he knew he'd heard it right. But that was a _lot_ , more than the twenty he'd guessed at. By the end of it, he'd probably be sweating as much as Bucky. He'd have to ask him about his choice, but now was not the place and the time, so:

 

''Count them for me.''

 

And then his arm was striking fast, creating a pattern of red welts forming an hexagon on Bucky's back, the higher almost reaching the back of his neck, just above his harness. Bucky arched his back, his muscles tight and tensed for a while before he let go of everything and sagged in his restraints, air escaping in a strangled moan.

 

''Six, sir,'' his voice came out, breathy and rushed.

 

The next four came fast and hard too, and by the time they'd reached ten, Bucky was gasping, his thighs shivering minutely.

 

''Sir?''

 

Immediately, Tony walked to his side, worried even if there was no fear or real pain in Bucky's voice. When his boyfriend turned his head, he was blinking lazily, and already having difficulty in focusing his stare – really, he wasn't sure he'd ever seen him losing control quite so fast.

 

''What is it, baby?''

''You, can you… talk to me? Praise, maybe?''

 

Oh well, there was no reason to be worried, then. He smiled and nodded, confirming out loud so he would be sure Bucky had understood.

 

''Of course I can. How far were we?''

''Ten, Tony.''

''Good, very good. You look beautiful,'' he said, rising his arm for the eleventh and bringing it back down with a _slap_ noise, ''you're all red already, baby, everyone can see how good you're being for me.''

 

Twelfth and thirteenth followed closely, and Bucky shouted as the crop touched his sensitive skin once again, rising a deep red mark behind it.

At some point, Tony realized his French was mixing with English, and Bucky's numbers jumped from French to Russian, to English, but this wasn't too big of a problem. The crowd wasn't there anymore, for either of them: for Bucky, the only thing left was the bright pain followed by a tingling, burning sensation that seemed to stretch all over his back, no matter where the crop had touched him; and the voice of Tony, anchoring him to the here and now, keeping him from getting too lost in his own mind. For Tony, only Bucky mattered, only seeing him twitch and arch, hearing him moan and beg, his voice breaking on the numbers.

Every time they did that, time seemed to stop and stretch at the same time. There was no telling exactly how much time they'd spent there, being each other's whole world, and both of them would never be able to recall what had gone on next to them. The crowd was getting bigger and bigger, people interested in seeing how those two celebrities acted, and people's reactions were almost overwhelmingly positive, but neither Tony nor Bucky were hearing the impressed whispers and the distinct sounds of making out. 

The crop touched Bucky's skin for the thirtieth time, and it was the one time that made Bucky _break_ : he sagged in his restraints, letting the leather and the cross bear his whole weight, his form wrecked with sobs and shivers. Though the marks wouldn't stay long, for now they were holding up, a beautiful geometrical pattern of red welts, going up and down Bucky's back.

Tony put the crop down gently and walked to Bucky's side, careful to make enough noise so he wouldn't startle him. His hands went up to Bucky's arms, stroking up and down, feeling the goosebumps he'd created.

 

''I want you to turn around and face me for the last five,'' he said in a hoarse whisper. ''Want to see how you look. Is that okay?''

 

Bucky was nodding, but Tony shook his head, put a finger on his cheek.

 

''I need to hear it, baby.''

'' _Yes_ , Tony, yes, I want that, pl-please!''

 

That was definitely enough. He crouched down to untie Bucky's ankles, efficient and fast, then stretched to take care of his arms. He had to gently push him around until Bucky was in the position he wanted him, back to the cross. There were tear tracks on his cheeks, his eyes red and swollen, and Tony didn't resist, had to put a kiss on his closed eyelids, that fluttered under the touch of his lips. Gently, he brought Bucky's arms back up and tied them up again, deciding to leave his legs untied now – at this point, it wasn't like Bucky would try to run away.

 

''Okay, baby. Five left, and then we're done. Count.''

 

 _Slap_. The first hit landed vertically between Bucky's nipples, and his abs clenched, breathing stopped for a second.

 

''Thirty-one!'' he cried with a rush of air, his fists closed and white-knuckled over his head.

 

 _Slap_. The second vertical hit, right over his left nipple, stole his breath away for a second time, and got a sob out of him along the number. _Slap_. The third one was parallel to the other two, over his right nipple. He was crying uncontrollably now, his hair glistening with sweat, placated to his brow. _Slap_. The fourth one was horizontal, a bright red line just under his sternum, and the number was more of a whisper now. _Slap_. The last one, just under the fourth, riding crop discarded next to Tony as soon as it was done.

 

''Thirty-five! Please, please _touch_ me.''

 

It was too pretty of a beg to ignore. In a second, Bucky's leather shorts were down under his thighs, and Tony was taking his swollen, red cock in hand, eliciting a gasp and a whimper.

 

''I got you, baby, we're all done. Just pleasure now, okay? Breathe, deep breath, that's it, come on.''

 

Tony wasn't even sure of what he was saying anymore: it came intuitively, without him having to think about it, words of praise and comfort that made Bucky wriggle and gasp. Bucky's knees let go, and Tony just about had time to put a settling hand under his ass so he wouldn't crumble to the floor, uncomfortably held back by his ties. It took no time at all, really, before Bucky was making these almost pained little sounds that told Tony he was close, too close to stop, and really, he had been _so good_ there was no reason of forcing him to stop. With a last corkscrew motion, Bucky was coming all over Tony's hand, and it was an impressive amount even by his standards; it was noisy too, no holding back behind the numerous moans and whispers of Tony's name.

When his shaking had more or less stopped, Tony stretched to unsnap the restraints, stepping to Bucky's side so he'd be ready to take his weight. There wasn't much Bucky could do right now, up as he was, and anyway, it was Tony's job to take care of him, which he gladly did. He put his shorts back up over his spent cock, then got him off the platform and through the crowd, ignoring all the people who wanted to talk to him: he only had one priority right now. They settled on a couch on a corner, where people would leave them alone, and an employee came to see if they needed something, coming back a minute later with water, chocolate, a blanket, and aloe very cream. It wasn't ideal, usually, after a scene like this, they crashed on their bed, burrowed into the blankets and with their favorite comfort food, but it would do. He had to tilt Bucky's head back to get him to drink, and he put the chocolate aside for now, waiting for Bucky to be more alert before feeding him. The aloe vera cream was rich and smelled good; he poured some in his hands, warmed it up before massaging it into Bucky's back. It probably wasn't needed; in fact, the welts were already fading, though they were still red, but it was a habit, and he knew that Bucky craved touch when he was like this.

When he'd tightly wrapped Bucky in the blanket, he settled more comfortably on the couch, lying on his back with Bucky curled on his torso. He had his arms tight around him, the fingers of his right hand playing with his hair like he loved. The only thing left to do now was wait for Bucky to come back to him at his own time, like he always did, surrounding him with comfort and love – which was far from being a hardship. It took a little while longer than it usually did – but after all, they usually didn't play surrounded by so many people – before Bucky's voice, small and hoarse, still a bit shaky, said:

 

''Thank you.''

 

With a bright smile and a burst of love in his heart, Tony kissed his brow, and hugged him tighter.

What a beautiful anniversary.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos? Comments?


End file.
